


Sliding Scale

by xaritomene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Boggarts, General Silliness and Grantaire angst, M/M, Magic, Past Abuse, but I enjoy it far too much, for which I'd apologise, ¬_¬
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter AU: Les Amis encounter boggarts. (Cleaned up from the kinkmene prompt <a href="http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13024.html?thread=5781984#t5781984">here</a>.)</p>
<p><i>It's all fun and games until someone lets the boggart out.</i> </p>
<p>
  <i>Which was not, if he was honest, something Grantaire had ever thought he'd say in his life.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sliding Scale

**Author's Note:**

> De-anonning from the kinkmene, because what the hell, you've got to confess your sins sometime or another.
> 
> OK, so this is my first Les Mis fic, and I've probably buggered up the characterisation a fair bit; I'm still working my way through The Book, and due to other commitments, haven't made it past the first section with the bishop. So, basically, everything's out of order! But in any case, I hope it's OK, and people enjoy it. :D

It's all fun and games until someone lets the boggart out.

Which was not, if he was honest, something Grantaire had ever thought he'd say in his life.

He's self-aware enough to stay well enough away from the boggart, though Defence Against the Dark Arts is his specialty, and he knows the counter-curse to a boggart well enough to deal with the damn thing - if he could think of one single thing that made his worst nightmare funny enough.

He can't. He'll let Enjolras take this one; he'll be asking the most important question.

"Marius, why in the name of Merlin do you have a _boggart_ in the wardrobe of your spare room?"

Marius spares him a glance from where he's watching, pale-lipped, a Dementor suck the soul out of Cosette. Bizarrely, Cosette is also watching - she looks a little dazed. Possibly, because Marius' idea of Cosette is more than a little radiant.

"It's an old house," he says defensively. "I didn't know it was there, Grandfather must have hidden it there when he couldn't get rid of it. Aha! _Riddikulus_!" And suddenly, the Dementor is serving Cosette tea.

Enjolras steps forward. "I've got this one," he said confidently, and the Dementor sniffs the air, just like a real one. Grantaire shudders - Jehan shifts a little behind Bahorel.

Then suddenly, the Dementor isn't there any longer, and Grantaire looks around to see what his leader's worst fear is. He knows he shouldn't - it's intrusive and wrong, and he's at the back of the room so that no one will see his worst fear. But he admits to some curiosity. 

There's a newspaper on the floor, which Enjolras glances it, before flicking his wand lazily. (Grantaire saw the words "Revolution" and "laughing-stock", which is amusing in its own right - Enjolras would rather die than be laughed at, it's official.) " _Riddikulus_!" And then there's a wireless, talking about Minister Fudge's ridiculous taste in bowler hats, which puts a gentle smile on Enjolras' face.

Joly is the next to step up - they're all hoping to force the boggart back into its cupboard, but so far, none of them had _Riddikulus_ 'd it hard enough. Joly's powerful, though - he might be able to do it, Grantaire thinks hopefully. 

But then the wireless disappears and is replaced by a stinking, rotting, animated corpse, all pustules and rotting flesh. "Oh - oh god, I-" Joly sounds like he's going to be sick, and Grantaire doesn't blame him; even Enjolras has taken a deep breath against nausea. 

"Think, man!" Enjolras commands, and Joly musters himself enough to mutter a _Riddikulus_ that doesn't work, until Courfeyrac steps forward to put a hand on his shoulder. Grantaire doesn't know whether Joly takes comfort from Courfeyrac's usual cheerfulness, or just the knowledge that someone else is there, but his next _Riddikulus_ does the trick - the corpse is being berated by Madame Pomfrey, their old matron at Hogwarts, and led away with a ludicrously chagrined expression on its not-face.

But then it pauses, and Grantaire knows instinctively that it's going to be bad when Courfeyrac steps forward, wand held steady. There are things even those as enthusiastic and dedicated as Courfeyrac - _especially_ as enthusiastic and dedicated as Courfeyrac, the cynical part of his mind whispers - cannot deal with, and the Boggart will pick up on the worst of them.

He's moving forwards before he even realises it, because his worst fears aren't bad enough warrant Courfeyrac's heartbreak, and he's just in time - the boggart latches onto him almost instantly. Gavroche's tiny, broken body disappears, the expression of terror and agony on his face vanishing as the Boggart transforms and disappears.

For a moment, there's silence - the boggart is nowhere to be seen. The friends look round, and just as the relief is starting to break out on every face, there's a low, sibilant whisper.

_Just as useless as your father said you would be_ , it says. _Worthless_ , it says. _Never worth the time it takes to deal with you_ , it says. And Grantaire closes his eyes, because he, at least, knows that it's talking to him, even as the other friends look between each other, each of them wondering which of the rest of them it could be talking to.

He tries to whisper the charm so they'll never know. " _Riddikulus_ ," he says quietly, but the voice just laughs.

_Even basic spells don't work for you_ , it tells him. _You're nothing. You'll never be anything. Barely a wizard, a mere carnival magician, not worth anyone's time, worse than a Squib. You can't believe in anything, can you? So who could believe in you?_

It's worse than Grantaire thought it could be; it's speaking in Enjolras' voice.

The friends are still looking between each other, and Grantaire takes a little strength from his friends' fear. He might be everything the voice is telling him - oh, he probably is, he's known that for a long time - but he can at least spare them this much.

There's certainty sitting in his bones as he raises his wand this time. " _Riddikulus_ ," he says, every syllable sure and clear, and the voice falters, chokes, delivering its next words in a halting falsetto that brings a grin to most people's faces. " _Riddikulus_ ," he says again, and something black and liquid shoots into the cupboard and slams the doors. " _Colloportus_ ," Grantaire adds for good measure, and then turns to face his friends.

Combeferre is the first to recover. "Load of old rubbish," he says stoutly, pulling Grantaire in for a hug - which breaks the ice holding everyone else back. There's a puppy-pile of ex-Hogwarts students, all of them eager to tell Grantaire how untrue the boggart was, how well he did the Riddikulus charm, how proud they are of him.

"Well," Bahorel says finally, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not sleeping in here. Marius? Any other options?"

The friends troop out, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire in the room together, alone. For a long moment, Enjolras just stares at him. "That was my voice," he says finally.

Grantaire feels a little defeated. "I know. Sorry."

"No, no - don't be," Enjolras says awkwardly. "It's not - you shouldn't-" he breaks off, irritated. "I don't think that at all," he says instead, and Grantaire's answering smile is just a little lopsided.

"Doesn't matter if you think it, Merlin," he says, aiming for teasing and missing by a mile, heading straight into 'painfully honest'. "It's _my_ worst fear."

Enjolras looks torn for a long moment. "I don't think that _at all_ ," he says finally, and Grantaire looks at him again.

"Thank you," he says.

Enjolras' expression doesn't change for a full beat - then he's pulling Grantaire into a hug. "You infuriate me," he tells him, into his hair. "And irritate me, and you question everything about me. And I would never have you any other way."

And Grantaire hugs him back, taking a little comfort where he can. There is no cure to fear - like a boggart, you could only hide them away and hope no one ever saw them - but for now, it's enough to have Enjolras there with him. Grantaire, coward, cynic, budding alcoholic, is brave when Enjolras is with him.


End file.
